


If I Didn't Have PTSD Before, I Sure Do Now!

by Skegulium



Series: Fantrolls - Tomois Drabbles [2]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternian universe, Attempted Kidnapping, Beheading, Gen, IT'S NOT A FUN FIC FOR TOMIE, Near Death Experiences, PTSD, TOMIE'S HAVING A MISERABLE TIME, almost paralysis, buildings burning up and on fire, but it isn't particularly gratuitously graphic, death of a lot of NPCS, injuries, ship crashes, ship crashing, the other one just wants to be left alone, two guys used to be friends but 22 years passed but one of them can't let go
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-01
Updated: 2019-07-01
Packaged: 2020-06-02 06:18:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19435636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skegulium/pseuds/Skegulium
Summary: ==>Tomois Rinoca | 22 Sweeps | The Stacks"I literally shot down the ship. I saw it burn. There's no one anyone could have survived. We just need to see if we can scavenge one of the IPC radios so we can listen in.""Well, we don't know if they've caught up with the ship, right? There's so many of the fucks running around...""Then hurry up!"You don't even notice when you've pressed your hands up to your mouth. You don't even notice how your knuckles are bleached white from trying to hold your mouth shut and you hope, oh god you hope that they don't notice you. The building with your ship in it is pretty clear behind you but you've pulled yourself up just enough to maybe hide behind a planter. If you're lucky maybe they won't see you?Oh, what are you saying. You're not lucky, not in the slightest.-----It was a typical 'oh no, shoot all the rebels!' situation. It was all fun and games until someone brought a rocket launcher and shot down Tomie's ship.That's just the least of his problems.





	1. The Fall

**Author's Note:**

> Please pay attention to the tags! This is a particularly heavy fic, filled with Tomois having a shitty time all around.
> 
> This fic is also mirrored over on my tumblr, Skegulium.tumblr.com!

_There's so much happening. There's so many lights flashing in front of your eyes, sirens blaring in your ears. The tiny little ship you held in your hands was straining against the free fall you were in and you were trying so desperately to pull you all to safety._  
  
 _A hand gripped at your shoulder, thick and big but also - tiny and delicate? A mouth, near your ear, screamed for you to hurry, oh god Tomie, please hurry, we're going to die if you don't fix this._  
  
But you couldn't fix this. It's like you were pulled out of your skin, floating three feet over your head to watch the carnage. A ship was on fire, metal screaming just as loud as the gasoline that burned bright bright. The ship was falling and falling and everyone was so afraid and so was the troll clinging to your shoulder who was both big and bulky but small and lumpy, with short hair dyed the brightest color of lime like the moons and also long and brittle and pale from being bleached in the sun. You were trying, please stop and just let you work, you're trying, _you're trying -_  
  
But still, they beg. _Hurry Tomie, hurry cadet Rinoca, hurry, hurry, hurry -_  
  
A deep, gravelly gasp of breath rattles out of your chest when you wake up, your chest heaving and pain blooming across your body. Where - where were you? Where was your... crew? God, it's so hard to think. There's so much pain in your body, from your back to your chest to your legs. It's like being dunked into a pot of ice cold water and then flipped into a pool of boiling water. Where were you? Who was with you? Why did you hurt so damn much?  
  
It took a moment for you to reorient yourself, even with the pain. There's so much of it, but you scrape at your consciousness until you could blink and look around from where you were on the ground, your spine burning like fire. God, that wasn't normal, right? It should definitely not be hurting like that and you groan as you focus your eyes towards... well, anything. It takes a moment but purple smears turn to purple clouds and a quick blink sharpens everything to a night sky. A beautiful night, with a ring of slick, white buildings and if you twist your head, you can see you're in the middle of them. You were lying on your back on the polymer tiles of a sky bridge, face up towards the skies and splayed about, the ground smooth against your cheek as you loll your head back and forth. Lucky for you, you don't need to get up to study your surroundings.  
  
Instead of a ship hanger, you're in a city. That's good news, usually. A pulse of relief goes through you and the memory of someone short, lumpy and delicate fades with the ship hanger. You're somewhere in a financial district, if these dry, characterless signs were accurate. The bridges were dead, and if you squinted through the glass railings, you could see the slow chugging of a train looping along the outside of the city, shining bright with the lights of the moons and the fires burning deep in its belly. At least that's good? You have to admit, at least there were no dead bodies littering the place. As for the uh, train, well, you can't prove it's _full_ of people.  
  
Above you, there's the shriek of metal and you jerk your head up at the sound. There, thirty feet above and one limp bodied roll's worth away was the ship you were piloting, all lodged into the side of an office building. If there was such a thing as giants, you might have suspected one took the ship and cracked it like an egg, tearing the two halves apart so that they were held together by a thread. One half was buried deep into the building - the other swung precariously in the air. Cables hung out of the half stuck in the building and you could see the glint of the moon off the metal tips of your helming port cables. They swung in the wind, tapping gently at the bottom half of the ship as it twists in the night air. It swung, and you can see movement deep in the hanging half and suddenly there was a shock of lime hair poking up and out. Well, hey! That's where he was! That's where... Uh. What's his name? Some Scimitar you were flying with? The thought was fuzzy in your brain and you puzzle at what he was called. Okay, okay okay, You just need a moment to remember him. You're disoriented and in pain and it's _really_ hard to figure out what's going on here but you're trying! You're honestly trying really, really hard.  
  
That Scimitar though, he was big and thick with hair cropped short and a snapped horn that bleeds rivers of dark brown profusely across his skull as he struggles against the swinging half of the ship he stood in. "Rinoca!" He rasps out. One arm reaches out to grab at the windowsill of the office building but his fingers could only slap against it before the ship creaks away. "Rinoca, are you okay?!"  
  
Oh. Right. Rinoca, that's you. Your leg and your spine still fucking _hurt_ but he's fine, so you just... you lift up one arm and wave weakly to him. That seems to satisfy the Scimitar. He turns away from you and tries again to grab at the windows. "Good! You're alive, let's see if I can make my way down - oh - "  
  
He doesn't get very far. He tries to grab at the window again and catches it for just a moment while the ship pivots on the bit of aluminum that kept it aloft. There's a shriek and it almost seems like, just for a second, it's going to snap - but the Scimitar is quicker than that. What's-his-name deftly hops out of the end half of the ship onto the wall and there's a terrifying moment where it rocks from the movement.  
  
And then, it settles.  
  
"Holy shit," The scimitar whispers, just loud enough for it to carry down to you. He's crouched up against the wall and he turns to stare at you. "Cadet Rinoca, can you get up? Are you hurt?"  
  
That's a hard question. The entire situation was just stressful enough that you forgot you were hurt and once he brings it up, the pain hits you hard and with a vengeance. This was like troll Lieham Neeson kicking open your door and beating the shit out of you to find his moirail that you kidnapped. This was like getting derezzed in Troll Tron! This was like being the road they drift on in Fast and the Furious: Eastern Alternia Drift! It's just really fucking painful and you have to crane your head up to look at yourself.  
  
You think you're in one piece. You're covered in cuts from the ship you tumbled out of and they're all bright blue against your grey skin. Your prosthetic leg seems to be in one piece and kicking it weakly seems to prove that it's working. Your other leg though? You pull up the leg to try to kick it and you get nothing but a strangled scream out of your mouth.  
  
That got the attention of the Scimitar captain climbing down the wall. "Rinoca! What happened?!"  
  
You struggle to keep your breathing even through your nose, doing your best to keep calm. It's... it's actually fucking terrifying to have your _one good leg_ be the one that's fucked up and you're trying so, so hard not to dwell on it. God, you can't just fucking _lose_ another leg. "I'm fine," You finally manage out.   
  
But that was a lie. You were not fine at all.   
  
"I think - something's up with my leg. My good one. I can't move it. Or, well, no I can it just - it hurts."  
  
"Don't move, I'm on my way Rinoca. I think I still got my med pack on my belt, I'll wrap you up."  
  
Okay. You can do that. You can hold still, so you let your head fall back against the bridge and you watch as the Scimitar hop down the building. The ship hanging from the building still rocks high above him but the two of you seem safe. Safe enough at least. If you turn your head to the other direction, you know you'd be able to see the fires burning high and bright in other buildings far, far away. Or, well, not far, but a lot farther than the two of you could walk.  
  
The Stacks was an interesting place to be, with buildings stacked on buildings until they creaked and cried under the pressure and all the lowbloods were pushed down to the ground. The rays of the moon haven't touched the streets down below in literal sweeps and you had to admit, at least you and Girhit - THAT's his name! That's the Scimitar captain's name! - didn't land down there. You're pretty sure if you guys crashed into a building and fell to the bottom, the two of you would be dead.  
  
But no, you landed up in the fancier parts of the city. These parts were all glittering lights and glass walls and white plastic flooring and trees pressed flush up against buildings. This is where the highbloods lived - and where the rebels had attacked.  
  
It started so simple, not even a week ago. There was some arsenic in the water supply, trolls were going deranged; nothing that'd really call for a suicidal Scimitar shock squad to come diving in. But the IPC hadn't had much publicity lately, so they thought it'd be nice for the Scream Queens to get some fresh air. It was an easy enough mission that the group took eagerly, really. Even when the poisoning set in, it wasn't so bad! Until today, that is.  
  
Suddenly there was trolls being caught up in screaming fireballs, roasting alive in the subway cars as they zipped down the tracks and water mains bursting from the boiling water inside. Whatever mission the lot of you were being sent on before now was cancelled and they tugged in another battery to come help. There were sightings of a wanted terrorist in the area so of course the Scream Queens and the Maddened Maidens were deployed.  
  
Things got even _worse_ after that. How could you make fireballs worse? You didn’t know, but it happened! All of your groups split up to try to corner the terrorist and that's... well. What happened after that? Your memory's a bit fuzzy, but you think your ship got shot down. Something hit it at any rate and sent you and Girhit spinning. God, you don't even think you know where the two of you are now in The Stacks. Your phone was still in the ship and that was, uh, not an option. Maybe Girhit would know? He was no Goregle Maps but something’s better than anything...  
  
You turn your head back to where the Scimitar captain was just hopping down from the wall and you gave him a grin. He winces at the sight, and just points at you. "You uh, got a lot of blood on your teeth. Maybe don't do that. Did you lose a tooth?"  
  
You roll your tongue around your mouth, feeling your gums. There's one molar near the back that seems a little loose, but it's not gone. Yet. "Nah, seems like it's there?"  
  
"Well, good. Keep your mouth closed anyway. Fuckin' disgusting." He starts pawing away at his belt, looking for the med packs.  
  
But before he could even take another step forward, there's the soft sound of a whistle in the air. It's a whistle you've heard before and the two of you look up in the air with eyes as wide as dinner plates and ice in your veins.   
  
That? That was a _missile._   
  
There's nothing against the bright purple of the clouds but that didn't mean shit before it makes contact. You don't know where it hit, honestly. You see absolutely nothing but your heart still climbs up into your throat as you look around wildly. Nothing on the street explodes into a fiery ball of, well, fire but the whistle turns into a scream and it crashes with a howl beneath the two of you. There's a deep boom and the bridge began to rumble and shake and you pray to the dear messiahs it won't collapse under you.  
  
"Must've been at the support struts!" Girhit yells, stumbling. He can't keep his balance and you're suddenly glad you're still lying there on the walkway. Your fingers are digging hard into the plastic flooring (as if that'll help you in the slightest) as he falls to his knees and his hands slap up against white polymer as he tries to keep stable.   
  
Then, it stops.  
  
The ground groans, but it doesn’t shake. Hell, it doesn’t even groan for that long! It gives out one loud, long noise of architectural pain and then it goes quiet and that’s all the two of you hear. Well, you know, except for the _thump-thump-thump_ of your heart beating a mile a minute, but that doesn’t count! Neither of you move as you wait to see what happens next, but the only thing of note that sounds out in the silence is the soft ring of a train bell as the flaming cars loop around the edge of the buildings again, orange flames glinting bright off business windows. The only other thing that _might_ be alarming is the ass-end of your ship swinging wildly over Girhit’s head but hey! The twisted strip of metal that kept it tied to the front end still holds strong! It’s impressive, actually, but the more you eye it up the more anxious you get about him staying underneath it.  
  
"Thank fuck," Girhit mutters, pushing back up to this feet. He tosses one anxious look up towards the ship above, squinting against the glint of light it reflects into his eyes. It just rocks in the air and he gives a firm nod before he starts to step forward. "Fuckin' rebels, they're about to bring this entire city down on their heads and then what're they gonna do -"  
  
There’s a _plink._ A glittering shower of light swings across the bridge then back again, and once the little snap rings out, everything seems to freeze. For a second, everything’s weightless and time stops. Girhit is mid-word, the light glinting off his face is glacial slow as it slides off his face and -  
  
Moving at an equally glacial pace was the shadow that grew over his head.  
  
Then, reality unfroze.


	2. CRAWWWWLING IN MY SKIIIIINNNNN

Things almost seem a little... unreal. Just a little! You're still trying to wrap your head around everything that’s happened. It's like you've been staring at a magic picture and then everything snapped into focus and it's a picture of the Empress's nudes or something weird like that. Something that makes you uncomfortable to look at, except like, you're not looking at a butt, it's concrete buildings and - and...  
  
Well, you're trying _not_ to look at it.  
  
You’re panicking. Oh Messiahs, you’re panicking.  
  
It's been a few minutes since _it_ happened and you've been trying to figure out what to do next. Your leg is... definitely broke. You're pretty sure it's broke because you managed to fight through the pain and lift up your leg just a bit to see where your leg bent _just a little unnaturally_ in the shin. That's like, textbook definition of broken so walking is absolutely out of the question until you can get something to use as a cane.  
  
But you need a minute to gather yourself before you can find that! You really... really need a minute. You said that like five minutes ago but that’s fine! Maybe an extra minute would be better. Or maybe another? A metric fuckton of minutes would really be best, but… You also _really_ have to suck it up and get moving. You've got to do _something_ before another missile comes.  
  
Pull on your big pupa pants Tomie! That's all you can tell yourself as you inhale, hands thumping hard at the floor and chest a-shuddering. It’s hard, _it’s so difficult,_ but you steel yourself to look around. You swing your head back towards the smoking buildings to your right. They're relatively untouched but they're empty. That's a good sign! They're empty and your walkway connects straight to a plaza that connected them all together. Okay, that looks like a good place to start heading towards. If you're lucky, you might be able to run into one of the many soldiers from the Scream Queens. Orrrrrrrr maybe you could run away? If you can get into a building on the _opposite_ side of the action, maybe you can call for help? Yeah, yeah that sounds like a good idea. You turn your head back to the left and _oh god no you can't look, shit -_  
  
Twisting your head away, you stare resolutely at the gently waving branches of a tree in the lush plaza untouched by the carnage. It'd be super cute and nice to hang out in if you weren't broken into pieces and Girhit wasn't, well, uh, …. you know. But you can't dwell on that! No more bad thoughts! You've _got_ to get over that, you'll have to keep it together when you crawl for help so like... you've got this. You've got this!  
  
You think you've got this.  
  
You inhale, deep and sharp and you start pulling your elbows close to you and pushing yourself up. So far, so good! Your ribs shriek in pain as you straighten yourself up, the pain radiating so far back that it's leaping up and down your spine. But you've got this! You're pretty sure you've got this, so you take it nice and slow and easy.  
  
Once you're up on your elbows, things seem a lot more manageable! You can see better, for one. Instead of being at ground level with everything, you can get a better grasp of distance now. With only one eye, that's pretty fucking important so it's a bit more reassuring. The streets are still clear so you've still got the time to get yourself upright. You're safe, for now.  
  
But now here's the hard part. If you could get yourself up to sitting, well, you could start seeing if you can scoot yourself to safety. Your ribs were going to be an issue though. They were going to hurt like a bitch when you get on up to sitting, so all you have to do is just slowly, carefully, oh so gently curl forward and push yourself -  
  
Oh, you don't even get that far. You barely even push up to your _hands_ before there was a knife in your back and it slid all the way down your spine and then back up to your skull, where it _pounded_ and _pounded_ until your vision blacked out and the next thing you knew, you were on your back again and staring at the sky.   
  
What the fuck was _that?_ There's something new beating in your chest and it's not pain. It’s colder and makes your fingers go numb and shake in shock. You know that feeling - it's _fear._ Did - did you break something else? You don't feel like something's broken, but if it's something in your spine -  
  
Panic bubbles up in your throat and your breathing exercises from earlier aren't helping anymore. Every time you try to inhale to calm down, it catches and there's a soft whine coming out of your throat. It takes a moment, but you drop your chin down to your chest and your fingers try to scrabble back at your neck.  
  
You can't feel anything. There's no wound, there's no blood when you pull your fingers back and you don't know if that's comforting or terrifying. There's just skin and hair and your ports -  
  
Oh no. Your _ports._  
  
The panic's back, seizing around your heart like a fist and you don't have a minute to spare. That fist sized heart is up in your throat but you try to push yourself up again. You don't have to go far, you just have to push high enough on one side so you can just, you know, _tip_ onto your front. It's not easy, not by a long shot. It's not easy and as you push yourself up onto your shoulder to tip over, the pain is back and hotter than ever. You can't help but sob, even as you push to land on your chest.  
  
The pain starts to ebb in your spine. Which, thank the _messiahs,_ that was fucking awful, but there's a new pain now that's a lot duller and a lot more bone deep in your chest. It hurts to lay your full weight onto your chest and you wheeze. You've been through worse than broken ribs, you try to tell yourself through gritted teeth, arms stretching out so they can reach at your spine. You've been through so, so much worse and you can tough it out for just a second to make sure you didn't just fucking paralyze yourself.  
  
Your fingers are shaky, but they know what they're doing as they feel at your neck. Slim digits slip under the top of your jacket and trace the lines of metal and plastic for the slightest bump or flaw. There's none so far. It's flush up against your skin and folds with the muscles of your back as you reach back farther and farther and -  
  
Oh. Oh no. Oh no no no no.  
  
Your fingers stop on the center cylinder of one of your ports, the casing popped _only_ a quarter of a centimeter out of place. There's a gap between the bone of your spine and the metal of your port and as you feel around the base, you can tell where the skin was being pulled taunt to accommodate the space. However cold the casing was, it wasn't as cold as the terror that beat through your veins.  
  
This... it must have been knocked out of alignment when you fell out. When you were in the ship you were - you were plugged in tight, with the connection cord locked into place around the casing. When you crashed, you must have been shaken out of the ship and the cord tugged until... until your weight pulled you out. You're pretty sure rolling across the ground would have helped either. You have _no_ idea how you're not fucking paralyzed or dead right now, but you're thankful you can still feel how much your goddamn leg hurt right now. You'll take pain over numbness.  
  
But... now what were you supposed to do? You can't even sit up without it hurting. You can't even scoot on your ass and you've got no phone and any flares you guys had was... well, were on Girhit.  
  
Oh sweet merciful Messiahs.  
  
Your arms uncurl from behind your back and you lift up your chin to stare at where one half of a ship stood, embedded almost a foot deep into the slick white surface of the bridge. The tile was cracked and stood up in jagged columns like the world's edgiest fucking grave to signal that somewhere underneath the ship was some poor bronze fucker who didn't duck out of the way fast enough when metal twisted too far and popped apart with the most delicate little sounds. You can still see the glint of moonlight flashing across the captain’s face as the ship fell, like it shone a spotlight down and said _'_ _There! I want to murder that one right there!’_  
  
At least you couldn't see the blood? What you _can_ see of the ship is covered in soot, not brown, and you can't even see a peek of what used to be Girhit. Maybe if you went around the ship you could see his legs, but the top half? No. You can't see anything.  
  
Not that you'd want to. God no. It happened so quick that just that fact alone was enough to make you sick. You don't know how much worse it'd be if you could see the viscera. Or maybe it was worse that you couldn't? At least if there was blood it'd seem a little less surreal than just _bam, suddenly he was gone!_  
  
Somewhere, in the distance, there's the soft noise of whistling again - this was a lot, lot farther away - and the soft rumbling of a _boom_ sounding off. It's not near you, no, but the sound is enough to get you flinching and reconsidering your options.  
  
Okay, so. You could stay, right? You can keep Girhit's body company or you could move to safety. Out here, you were exposed. Out here on the sky bridge, where the support struts were already damaged and a ship was already a foot embedded into the bridge and okay, yeah no, this is a dumb consideration, you _obviously_ can't stay here.  
  
But where would you go? If you twist your head, you can see the pathways towards the little garden plaza and the bridges leading to other bridges. Maybe, just maybe...  
  
You groan as you reach out with your arms, reaching as far as you can go. The pads of your fingers grip as best as they could against the polymer bridge and you pull up your prosthetic leg to press your toes to push. It's slow and your arms are shaking, but you can feel your clothes glide across the plastic flooring as you move.  
  
By the time the pain in your chest makes you stop, you've gone about... five inches. Five whole inches closer to the plaza and the bridges. Oh boy. You can't help but pant as you eye up the benches and trees over there rustling in the wind but you can't stay here for long. Staying here longer than you need to is a death sentence. Your ports are just a dull pain in your back rather than the hot knife they were before, so at least this means you can drag yourself on the ground. Your leg? It hurts feeling your shoes catch against the ground, but it hurts less than moving it. Your chest? Well. You hope so damn hard you’re not jostling your ribs into your lungs and it aches so badly but you _have_ to move.  
  
So, you stretch out your arms again and pull up your prosthetic leg and get to dragging.


	3. What's Lost Prefers To Stay Lost

Good fucking mirthful messiahs, you really have to start working on exercising your arms more. Like, seriously.  
  
It took you like... oh, shit. You can't tell time! You think there's been like, two missile explosions, a siren system coming online and warning people repeatedly to avoid any major forms of public transportation, and you've heard that train pass by like four times by the time you managed to drag yourself on over to the plaza. You have no idea what that means in terms of time. Maybe half an hour? Fifteen minutes? An hour? _Three hours?_  
  
No, it's not three hours. That's just over exaggerating.  
  
Either way, by the time you made it to the plaza, it's been a real fucking long time and your arms? They absolutely hurt. They hurt, just like your leg and your chest and your back did and you'll honestly count that as a win. After all, if the alternative was full body numbness because of paralysis, well, what other choice could you make?  
  
There's a building, not that far away from where you sprawled out on the polymer floors. The doors are swinging open in the wind and it doesn't look like there's been... well, anything funky that happened there. There's no soot on the doors, there's no blood, it just looks like whoever was in there saw that there was some bad shit going on and they just fucking booked it out of there. It's not like you can blame them. The entire city is some sort of 'on fire' even if it's just gently smoldering or literally imploding in on itself.  
  
But their mistakes on locking the door was just going to help you tonight. If you could get inside, well - this building looks a lot safer than the skybridges and the floating plaza. There's no weird ship that's gone and cracked the ground and missiles that've weakened the struts - it's the best safe haven you can find. Here, you could find a phone and lie low while you wait for help.  
  
It's not the best idea, but it's all you have and by god, you were getting tired of crawling.  
  
You sit there for a minute though. No need to rush, you're alone, you just need a little bit of time to catch your breath and rest and -  
  
"Hey!"  
  
Oh. Ohhhhh shiiiiiiiiit.  
  
Your guts twist and wrench themselves about inside of you and you lift up your chin to look around wildly. Where was that from?! You can't see shit, not with all these smooth, cubism like planters and benches rising up from the polymer like it was pulled up clay. There's a few bridges connected to this plaza and the two you could see were empty -  
  
"Hey, don't go so fast! Gemmah, come on. We don't know what's around here."  
  
"I literally shot down the ship. I saw it burn. There's no one anyone could have survived. We just need to see if we can scavenge one of the IPC radios so we can listen in."  
  
"Well, we don't know if they've caught up with the ship, right? There's so many of the fucks running around..."  
  
"Then hurry up!"  
  
You don't even notice when you've pressed your hands up to your mouth. You don't even notice how your knuckles are bleached white from trying to hold your mouth shut and you hope, oh god you hope that they don't notice you. The building with your ship in it is pretty clear behind you but you've pulled yourself up just enough to _maybe_ hide behind a planter. If you're lucky maybe they won't see you?  
  
Oh, what are you saying. You're not lucky, not in the slightest.  
  
The soft clodding of footsteps grow louder and louder until you could almost feel it in your chest. It's inevitable that they'll see you. It absolutely is and all you can do is press your hand against your mouth and squeeze your eyes shut until they do..   
  
"Okay, we've found it. Hirouh, can you ping the main group to let them know we've found the ship? We shouldn't be here too - _Woah!"_  
  
There it was.   
  
You were determined to keep strong and not make a sound but the moment the troll exclaims behind you, a sob shakes itself out between your fingers. There was something piercing your heart deep enough to have it wither in your chest and there was _nothing_ You can't fight back, you don't even have a gun on you. Hell, you couldn’t even act strong and now you’re about to cry like a _pupa._  
  
You can't see the two trolls, but you can hear them. The first one stops, heels squeaking against polymer, and the second one stops close behind. There's silence and then the second one pipes up. "Is he dead?" He asks, his voice hushed.  
  
The footsteps start up again and you can hear the soft sound of someone sneaking around you in a circle. "...No," They say after a long moment. "He's alive. Somehow, but it looks like he can't walk, his leg's all - all fucked up. See, it’s all twisted ‘round." There's the squeak of rubber soles a foot away from your face and your chest shudders as you inhale sharp and deep.

"Hah! Well he's not going to be a problem then, is he? We'll be the nice ones, we should put him out of his misery." There's the sound of fabric shuffling behind you and then the telltale click of the safety switching off of a gun. “Shouldn’t take more than a sec anyway.” The voice is closer now and there’s another click to cock the gun, a click that’s much, much closer to the back of your skull. You don’t want to cry. Oh Messiahs, you want to go out with dignity, but the press of metal against your skull is unmistakable and a sob shakes its way out of your mouth anyway.   
  
This was it. This was where you fucking die, isn't it? You didn't even get to see Nanako again since that date with her matesprit, you didn't even tell Kua that you really, genuinely pitch hated him. All of that's just regrets now, regrets that'll turn into blue brain matter splattered across white floors. You'll be nothing and you won't even know when you'll be nothing, you'll just wink out and that's the end of that and -  
  
"Wait!"  
  
"What?"  
  
"Hold on..."  
  
There's the squeak of shoes again and the crunch of leather as someone kneels down to your head. You don't dare move or even open your eyes as they... well. You don't know what they're doing.  
  
"Gemmah, what're you -"  
  
"Ping the Gyrhawk. Like, right now. I think we've found the troll he's been hunting."


	4. Looking Through Rose Tinted Gunfire

It's been quiet. Well, you know, as quiet as it can be considering you were being held hostage right now with a troll sitting near you on the bench. Neither of you really talked much.  
  
Once you were sure that they weren't going to kill you, you opened up your eyes! They're... exactly what you expect them to be. Dirty, greasy rebels with sparks in their eyes and a passion that burned deep in their hearts. It'd be cute, if one of them - Gemmah or something, - wasn't watching you with a gun in their hands. They weren't even that big of a troll, hell, they weren’t much more than a sheet of rice paper in the wind with some straw tacked to the top of their head, but you still were still scared of them. They took the big-ass gun from Hirouh and sent him running to the wreckage while the two of you waited.  
  
And waited.  
  
And waited.  
  
You're not a patient person! It's just not the kind of troll you were and it was hard to not chatter at them (Like _who_ was the Gyrhawk? They knew they couldn't get much from the wreckage, right? Why was he being hunted? Were they the ones with the missiles?), but whenever you raise your head to look at them in their green eyes, the words withered and died in your throat. So you just... lay there, cheek against the glossy plastic floor and watching as your breath fog it up, waiting.  
  
And waiting.  
  
"Can't get shit from the ship," Hirouh grunts from behind you and you shift your head to look over your shoulder. He's got a few things gripped in his hands that looked a lot like coils from the back end of the ship. "Parts, maybe, but no radio stuff. There's some poor fuck crushed under the ship too, like he got pinned but can't get shit off his belt but like, some bullets. Not even the kind we can use for our gun either." He swerves hard around you to approach Gemmah, dumping the bullets into their lap. They stare at you for a brief second before turning their attention back on down to the bullets and they start picking through them.  
  
"Well that's not an issue," They say, inspecting one of them. "We knew we might not find anything valuable in the ship. We shot it down, it's not like it'll tap down all gentle like so we can raid it. We’re bound to miss out on some stuff..."  
  
"Yeah, but at least we found this guy, right?" You look up at the mention of them but you can't respond. Your lips are dry and you lick at them as they stare.   
  
Gemmah shrugs. "Yeah, guess so. Gyrhawk's takin' his sweet time to get here though, I'm hoping we won't have to try to lug him back ourselves -"  
  
"His sweet time? Is that so?"  
  
The voice that cuts through Gemmah's is smooth, deep and silky - and just loud enough to make the two of them jump off the bench. Behind them, stood someone you'd never expect you'd see again tonight. Hell, you didn't think it was real for a second until icy blue eyes slid to catch yours.  
  
You couldn't blink.  
  
You couldn't move.  
  
You couldn't even _breathe._  
  
Ice shot down your veins deeper and colder than when you thought you were going to die, with a tingle running down your arms and legs until you realize how badly your hands were shaking under your chin. They shook like how your vision was swimming and spinning around you, pulling the trolls apart like taffy and dropping them down a drain. Pressing your hands down against the polymer didn't even stop the tremors! If you pin them down with your chin it helps - but then you became excruciatingly aware about how you weren't breathing. It takes a minute, but you manage to convince yourself to inhale. It's quiet and slow for a second but then your chest snags and your lungs suck it in loud enough to get the trolls looking at you.  
  
Blue eyes bore into yours and you don't even know what expression you're wearing right now.  
  
Stijon leans forward to put his hands on the bench, the metal fingers of his right arm clicking against the polymer as he turns away to smile at the two rebels. He's as stocky as ever, with broad shoulders that hid themselves under a threadbare bomber jacket. A jacket you know - well enough to be tempted to tease him about how ratty the right sleeve looks, where the fabric was torn away and all one could see was the bare hydraulics and wires of his prosthetic arm.  
  
Gemmah's mouth hasn't stopped working since he stepped up. Their jaw opens and closes and opens again as they try to find their words, their face blanching even as Hirouh tried to stammer something out next to them. Stijon though - he didn't care. He raises up one hand to them and gives them a tired look. "It's fine," He says and the lowness of his voice practically reverberates in your bones. "You're both fine. Don't give yourselves a stroke trying to justify a joke."  
  
Color starts to flow back into Gemmah's face in relief and they just nod at him. "O-of course. Sorry sir. But uh -" They wipe their face with one hand and step back from you, the other waving at the entirety of _you._ "This is uh - is this the one you've been looking for?"  
  
Blue eyes slide back to yours and it feels like all the breath pulls out of your body. Sweet merciful Messiahs. Why couldn't they put a bullet in your head?  
  
"Yes." Metal hands glide off of the polymer bench and Stijon steps around it to approach you. There's a few other trolls behind him when he moves, standing at the ready like guards. Or, well, they had to be guards. One was squat and thick with a wiry bush of hair slapped onto his face and the other was tall and lean with a pinched look on her face and muted cybernetics lighting up under her scalp. Both had _massive_ guns in their arms, fingers on the trigger and you numbly realize you've seen those before. Didn't the IPC raid a base that was building those as prototypes not long ago? They're energy guns, with a real punch to them. One hit from those and it'll vaporize a troll.  
  
Stijon, on the other hand, was unarmed. You can see that when he kneels down next to you, leather boots squeaking as he tries to catch your eye again. It's not hard. It's really not, not when you're so terrified that your shoulders and hands tremble as you look him in the eyes.  
  
"Hello Tomie," He says softly.  
  
It's... it's like a lance to the heart. He says it in that way that smashes you in the face with memories like it was rocks in a sock, that makes you think back to when the two of you were younger and had all of your limbs and were so, _so_ in love with the way a smile brightened up each other's cheeks.  
  
But those memories? They were old. They were old and they faded because now there's nothing but fear. Fresher than those memories of kisses stolen under neon lights were the memories of dead friends, of crashed ships and Sitjon's severed arm tossed next to you where your leg was crushed by the ship dashboard and the splattered bits of troll decorated the floors. A delicate hand stood straight up out of the wreckage, rising from a nest of sun bleached brittle hair that belonged to someone sweeter, who begged with a hand on your shoulder to _hurry, Tomie, hurry hurry hurry!_ Fresher than that even was your time in the IPC and your training and the first few times you saw Stijon, sided with the rebels and a gun in hand and trying so hard to grab you by the shirt to drag you behind enemy lines. Enemy lines that you know the moment you touched it, the IPC would sooner put a bullet in your head than listen to what you could say.  
  
Eleven sweeps. Eleven sweeps of memories since the night the two of you parted ways and still - _still_ you don't know what to even say to him. You never did the last few times he almost kidnapped you.  
  
You lick your lips. "Hi Stijon," You rasp out, quiet as can be.  
  
Mechanical fingers whir as he reaches out to you and you squeeze your eyes shut right before they brush against your hair and pat your shoulder. "You don't look so good. What happened? Where are you hurt? I can help you."  
  
 _'I can help you.'_  
  
God, you don't even want his help! The sheer revulsion you have at his words rolls up inside of you until it's like a punch at the throat and you struggle to even breathe around the fist of words worming its way around your tongue. You want to tell him to shove it, to go choke on his own arm or to shove a gun up his ass and fire it! You want to tell him to go the fuck away! And you know what, you’ll do it too!  
  
You swallow, gathering up as much of your courage as you could, and you open your eyes up again.  
  
"Just got a few broken bones," You whisper. You’ve already fucked up. "The one good leg I've got is fucked. Something's wrong in my chest I think. Got a port knocked out of place so I'm like, two seconds away from being a paraplegic I think."  
  
The metal hand on your shoulder pauses at that. Then, it reaches up towards the collar of your jacket, past it, and to the gaping accessibility zipper on the back of your jacket that gives access to your ports. Anxiety spikes in your chest as he starts to peel it back to take a peek. It's uncomfortable and you turn your head up to try to hide the glint of metal and plastic embedded in your neck, but Stijon's free hand comes up to grab the top of your head and gently guide it down. It's frustrating to have your ports on display like this, your jacket parted just enough to feel the wind against your skin and Stijon has the _audacity_ to give a little sigh of sympathy. Sympathy! Like this somehow wasn't his fault!  
  
The metal fingers pull back from the port window and you exhale long and deep against the ground. "We'll have to be careful then," Stijon murmurs, and he turns to face the trolls behind him. The wiry bearded troll and the twiggy cyborg snap to attention and he gestures to the twig. "You. Jicery. How do you feel? Do you think you can construct up a gurney to carry him back to base?"  
  
"Yes sir," She responds and she swings the big, heavy gun in her arms to the bearded one and steps forward. There's the crackle of psionics and the smell of burning ozone and quick as a flash, a bright yellow platform appeared next to you.   
  
No.  
  
No no no no no.  
  
Oh god, no you didn't want this.  
  
Stijon's talking again, but you can't make out the words anymore. You're stuck back in your head and everything just seems so... foggy. There's cotton in your head and you feel like your skull's inflated and floating so high above your actual body and there's a roar in your ears that keeps you from catching a single sound from their mouths. It keeps building though. The thickness builds and builds and it's coming to a point where you can barely stand it, like someone keeps trying to pack in more and more cotton behind your eye sockets. Lights spark in your eyes and it's not until there's two trolls on either side of you that you realize you haven't breathed once. Hands grip at your shoulders and your legs and suddenly, you inhale deep.  
  
"No!" You yell and that startles the trolls into letting go. It echoes through the air, bouncing off of the polymer buildings around you and you slump forward, forehead pressing against the floor as you reach forward and scratch at soft, plastic flooring. "No," You croak out again, softer. Everything is gone now - all that cotton and thickness is gone, gone with the words out of your mouth and now everything’s clear. It’s too clear, like someone sharpened it a bit too much and now you’re aware of everything from the chill of the floor to soft little ding of a trolley passing by for the millionth time.  
  
It's quiet. It’s so quiet and the trolley leaves, leaving only the dull roar of fire burning in the city and the echo of sirens. Not any of the trolls say a word. Then, one of them kneels.  
  
"Why?" Stijon asks softly.  
  
A shuddering gasp rips through your chest and you shake your head against the ground. Your throat's too tight to speak but your mouth works anyway, your chin jolting and jumping with emotion.  
  
"Be-because I don't want to go with you." It's strained, but it's better than nothing. Your nose catches against the floor and you curl your hands into fists and bang them in front of you. "You just - you just walked up and you assumed I'd be okay with you taking me. I'm not! I don't want to go with you! I didn't ask for your help!"  
  
"But you need it -"  
  
"I DON'T NEED IT FROM YOU!"  
  
A metal hand pauses above your shoulder and you try to jerk and roll it away from under his palm. It doesn't work so well, but it's the _principle_ of the matter. "I don't need it from you," You say, quieter and hoarser this time. "I don't want you to help me. I want you to leave me alone."  
  
There's a beat of quiet. Then: "I can't do that Tomie. I can't not help you."  
  
 _"Why?"  
  
_ Your voice is so small. It's so choked up and tiny that you almost feel like Stijon didn’t hear it. But, he did. That metal hand presses down on your shoulder, soft and gentle and comforting. It does exactly the opposite of what Stijon’s trying to do, but you’re too strained and wrung out to say it.  
  
Stijon inhales, slow and steady. “Because I owe you. Tomie, I put you in this situation - “ _Damn straight you did,_ you thought. “- I was the one who forced you into a life like this. If it wasn’t for me, if it wasn’t for the bad decisions I made so long ago, you wouldn’t be like this. You wouldn’t have ports in your back and we wouldn’t be sitting here like this, on opposite sides of this fight.” There’s a pause in his words and the hand squeezes tight. When he speaks again, it’s softer. It’s downright mournful and lost and exhausted. “I want to set you free. I want to let you go and let you choose what you want in life, without having the Empire breathing down your neck. I know this isn’t you. I know you don’t want to live a life of being trapped, of being tied down and being _used -”_ _  
_  
“You don’t know me anymore then.”  
  
Your words bite out sharper than you expected. Stijon’s touch on your back still makes your skin crawl and you try to roll your shoulder to shake him off. This time it works and his fingers slide off.  
  
It’s quiet for a long moment, like the other trolls don’t know what to say. The quiet fwip of psionics winking out of existence is a brief interruption, but no one moves or says a thing. A quick lift of your head shows the other trolls are still standing around you and you can see their feet shuffle awkwardly - but hey! At least they’re not touching you! No one is, and you're grateful for it.  
  
You inhale, quick and shaky. “It’s been eleven sweeps, Stijon. We’re… we’re not the same. I _want_ to stay here. I _want_ to be with the Fleet. We’re not the same anymore.” Something bubbles up in your throat and you have to work your jaw and swallow to keep the emotions down and your voice steady. “I’m not the same guy you knew back then. I’m - I’m just _not._ This isn’t some sort of - this isn’t some sort of movie! We aren’t the same, things aren’t going to go back to what it used to be, I’m _different,_ you’re _different_. Just… just let me go. _Please._ We aren’t the same as we were back then.”  
  
 _Please._ That’s all you want. You just want to be free from being fucking terrorized, of feeling like you’re being scrutinized to see if you’re even worth keeping alive! The IPC watches you on every mission for _exactly_ this reason! Because what if you _could_ be convinced to go back to Stijon?  
  
You don’t. God, you don’t. You’re content with where you are and you want to be left alone.   
  
There’s a tiny little _plip_ that breaks the silence after you finish, and a quick blink of your eyes clears the tears from them. When did you start tearing up? It’s hard to say, but there’s a flat droplet that’s glinting on the floor beneath your face now. At least no one else can see it, right? Right?   
  
Something touches your shoulder again, the whirr of mechanics sounding off next to your ear. “I’m sorry,” Stijon murmurs.  
  
“But this is for the best. Just trust me on this. You’ll thank me when it’s over.”  
  
He doesn't even give you a chance to respond. The hand slides down your shoulder to your arms and you open up your mouth to protest, but he's already got a vice like grip on your biceps. "Jicery," he commands. "The platform, please. We need to go now."   
  
The crackle of psionics coming to life is almost instantaneous! You can feel it twang against your horns and it causes a swell of panic to rise up inside of you. No. No no no no no! You can't just be taken away like this! It can't end like this! Hands start gripping at your shoulders again and the burning smell of psionic ozone gets closer as the platform lowers down next to you, half an inch thick and glowing bright red.  
  
"Wait!" You yelp out as they start lifting you. "Stop! I-I don't want to go!" The layer of red constructs starts to glide underneath you and you start to jerk, desperate to stay off. "No, come on, stop it, please! I'm begging you - !"  
  
There's another crackle and a whistle. You can barely see it, but a blur of pink whizzes overhead and then shatters in an explosive firework of glitter and embers. Stijon abruptly lets go of your arm, dropping you hard on the platform as he staggers back from the projectile fading away at his face.  
  
"Oh boo!" Says a voice, sickeningly sweet and peppy. "Let's try that again!" Another blur of pink whizzes at Stijon, bigger than before and you crane your head up to watch as another sphere of pink shatters again and again against his chest, like water balloons hitting a wall. It does nothing more than push him back, his hands coming up to deflect the blows even as they fizzled out six inches in front of him. A device clipped on his belt flashes bright blue every time the constructs shatter against him, a disco of pink and blue cancelling each other out. "You can't hide behind a nullifier foreverrrrr!!"   
  
Oh thank the Messiahs. You'd recognize that voice anywhere! It's the kind of voice that reminds you uncannily of someone who likes to grab worms by the ends and twist them until they broke, like someone who orders a two tier cake and eats it themselves. It's the voice of cheap Maul-Mart frosting in a gallon container come alive like the world's most fucked up golem - it's fucking _Rumisa_ and frankly, for once in your life you want to grab her by her cheeks and kiss her. With tongue, even!  
  
The trolls around you all explode with panic as the spheres keep whizzing and they scramble for the guns they all tucked away. "The fuck!" Gemmah yells "Who the fuck are - _Augh!"_ A pink ball to the face doesn't let them finish that. There's a loud sickening crunch that almost makes you gag, then they go flying back, rolling and tumbling until they crumple into a pile ten feet away and their gun skittering out of reach. Hirouh though has a better draw time and his gun's already up and charging. Oh God, oh fuck - he's standing right beside you and you know you're between him and her and the last thing you wanted was to be in between a firefight -   
  
But you don't have to worry about that. If you didn't know better, you'd almost think Rumisa was a mind reader! A wall of pink and bright suddenly spawns around you with a soft little _plup_ and then everything's… muffled. Surprisingly so, like there was a curtain drawn between you and the rest of the trolls and you lift your head up just enough to see that she's used her psionics to bubble you, to keep you separate and safe from the other trolls. And, you realize as you watch in horror, to use as a shield.   
  
The gun charges in Hirouh's hands and blinks green right as the bubble constructs itself and within a split second, he fires it. The energy beam had nothing more to hit but bubblegum pink constructs so it did! It smacks right into the wall and sent a low note reverberating through your little haven, before the beam ricocheted back into his chest.  
  
"Stijon, Rouche, run!" The psionic from before - Jicery - is loud and shrill as what’s left of Hirouh crumples into a smoking pile. The bearded troll from before doesn't even hesitate before he books it towards Stijon, the two of them ducking behind a planter as Jicery throws up a candy red crackling wall.   
  
Pink spheres start crashing against it, each harder than the last and the wall flickers with the impact. "Oh boo!" Calls out Rumisa and if you turn your head, you could see her twirling and hopping as she flung orb after orb at the rebels. Pink pigtails bounced with an unnerving cheeriness and the ruffled skirt of her uniform made her look more like a pupa than a seasoned soldier. "Come on, don't be shy! Come out to _play!"_  
  
Messiahs, you wish you could do something. Everything happened so quick, with the kidnapping and the attack and then suddenly two trolls were dead and another fight was happening right in front of you and then Stijon ran - wait, he was running! You swivel your head back towards where he used to be and you can see the tell-tale sign of Stijon's stocky build growing smaller and smaller as the two of them sprinted down the sky bridge heading to the outskirts. "Hey!" You call out, your voice hoarse. "He's running away! He's across the bridge!"  
  
Rumisa doesn't even question you. There's the tell tell grunt of her twirling and then the next few spheres of psionics she tosses don't hit Jicery and her wall - but instead fly overhead and slam hard into the polymer bridge tiles. It's enough of a distraction that Jicery's psionic shield drops and she turns - right before a pink bubble shoots towards her head and engulfs it.  
  
For a second, you can see her panic. Her hands fly up to the bubble and pounds against the construct, eyes widening and the cybernetics in her skull flashing in alarm before - before there's a soft, wet _snip_ and the lights wink out and her body drops to the floor. But just the body.   
  
Her head sat in the bubble, a look of slack jawed shock still plain on her face and you can see it with clarity - right before it jerks forward and the head filled sphere zooms off past the bridge following hot on the heels of the two trolls sprinting around a corner before it pops and sends the head flying towards them. A gift, you're sure, and the worst kind too.  
  
There's the soft tap of feet next to you and look ahead just in time to see the pink toes of Rumisa's shoes as she stops in front of you. There's a fumble of plastic and then a static click.  
  
"Hellooooo!" She calls out, a surprising note of cheeriness coloring her words. "This is Dasypo! I found Rinoca! Can't see Girhit anywhere, the silly man, but I also found something better! I found some rebels!" You lift your chin to look up at her, your eye straining to look at her face.  
  
There's blood splattered across her cheeks and her sweet pink lipstick was smeared, but there was still a shine of joy in her eyes and the sound of her plastic hair tie charms click together as she cocks her head and beams at you. "But you should send an ambulance first!" she calls into the communicator sewn into her shoulder. "I think they broke Rinoca! Poor boy, he looks half dead." Her lips twist into a sympathetic pout, but you're so exhausted you can't even find a way to be offended by it.  
  
There's a crackle of words that sound off from her communicator, staticy and low and just loud enough for her to hear but not you. She keeps one long, rabbit like ear flicked out to tuck the speaker under its trough and then she nods at what it says. You'd ask, but you're still too stunned at the sudden rescue  
  
"Can do!" She says cheerily in reply to what it said, and then she uncocks her head and drops the speaker back against her shoulder. "Rinoca! Stay here, I'm going to go hunt them down and -"   
  
"No!"  
  
You don't even mean to say that. It just bubbles up out of your throat and your hands reach out to her feet, the tips of your fingers scrabbling to clutch at her toes. "No," You say, just a bit softer. "Please don't leave me here - not alone. _Please,_ I'm _begging_ you."  
  
There's a quiet moment, then a pause as she looks between you and the building. Then she pushes herself up onto the very tips of her toes, perfectly balanced like a dancer to gingerly step out of your fingers. It almost makes you want to cry again, because you don't know what to do if you're left behind again to fend for yourself and you squeeze your eye shut in anticipation.   
  
Then: "Okay! I'll stay!"  
  
That takes you by surprise.  
  
You open your eye again, glancing back up towards her. She's grinning one of her winning smiles again and her hair almost seems to bounce with her energy.   
  
"I'll stay!" Rumisa repeats. "I'm not dumb - that was Rouche with stijon, don't you know? _Criminally_ handsome but oh so deadly!" You don't know him, but that doesn't stop her from continuing. "He'd fry me in a second! This is a great excuse to stay out of his way!"  
  
It… Sure was one hell of an excuse, but you know what, you'll take it! It's better than being left behind and you collapse against the floor again, tension leaving your body and leaving you no more than a miserable puddle of pain and stress against fancy, polymer floors.  
  
Rumisa twirls on a heel to face away from you, studying the landscape around you. You don't really pay attention to her at this point, opting instead to let her do her thing of.. Uh, well, bubbling rubble, you guess? It's confusing, but her intentions dawns on you as she dumps them in piles in front of the sky bridge entrance. It’s a simple barricade to keep the two of you safe, but hey! It works and that’s all that matters, right?  
  
It's finally sinking in the situation you just narrowly avoided and tension seems to seep out of your bones - only to be replaced by a numb sense of exhaustion and fear. It was over, you think, but you finally feel like you can put your head down and cry properly, like you can just let it out and scream against the pavement because not only did you almost die _twice,_ but you almost got kidnapped! But… You didn't. You didn't die. You didn't get kidnapped! You never thought you'd get this far when you woke up in that bridge after the crash and frankly, you're stunned and surprised. Somehow though, it doesn't feel like you're happy and relieved. It feels like there's a hole now in your stomach, like someone scooped out your guts with a spoon and ran off with them and you were left empty and too tired to move. Hell, it left you too tired to think!  
  
Besides from Rumisa's redecorating, the plaza is… Relatively quiet. There's fires, of course, and the burning trolley passes by once again and some part of you just thinks it's fucking bizarre how quiet it could be when you had three bodies surrounding you and a destroyed city burning in the distance. Rumisa's the only one making any sort of sound out of the two of you, her voice lilting in a wordless song as she works to move rubble. That's fine though. You don't want to talk.  
  
You rest your cheek back down on the floor, eye half lidded and you stare off into the distance. Pain pulses low and full in your body, but you're grateful for it. It's better to focus on than the empty hole deep in your torso.   
  
You were safe now, or at least you think you were. All you had to do was wait.


End file.
